


a moth deceived by flames

by buffering



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Based of a dnd character of mine, Character Study, D&D, Deception, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Dungeons & Dragons Character Backstory, Fairy Tale Elements, Forced Prostitution, Gen, Half-Elf, Hurt/Comfort, Prostitution, dnd, not explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28782372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffering/pseuds/buffering
Summary: A slave. I was a slave now. I'd been born into freedom as a halfbreed and I'd been scorned for it for 16 years. At the attention of something that resembled fame I sold myself without even questioning it. Stupid.
Kudos: 1





	a moth deceived by flames

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone :D
> 
> As the tags say, this is a little something based off a dnd character of mine, with another character of mine featuring towards the end. There's some elements of 'The Green Ribbon', a delightful little fairie tale that is horrifyingly good as well.
> 
> There is sex involved as this character is a prostitute, but nothing is described in detail. I keep it pretty vague for several reasons. If you're looking for smut, this is not it. In a sense, this is non-con as she is forced to do these acts, but I did not feel it was strong enough to tag it as such. If you are triggered by things like that, please continue with discretion.
> 
> In no way am I trying to bash sex workers or show sex work in a negative light - this is simply how the character wanted to be made. If I seem overly cautious, it's because I'm used to getting torn apart on the internet over misconstrued opinions. Better to be overly safe than sorry yeah?
> 
> If things are a bit messy please blame my 3 AM mind. Any typos/errors are mine. Also, I hate the ending. I am trash at endings. I am sorry. 
> 
> If you're reading this, thank you so much :) I appreciate you, and I hope you are having a good day.

The day I got my ribbon, I felt free. I'd thought this was my shot, my one chance at reaching the fame I so desired. I couldn't sing for shit, and my fingers weren't built for instruments. But illusions and fire tricks...I could do those. The idea I'd caught the eye of the Ribbon Troupe had me lost in a starry haze, it must have been fate. The Manager had handed me the wooden box, saying, "When you wear this ribbon, you become a member for life. You bind yourself to us for as long as you draw breath." Their hands were cold, long fingers brushing mine as I took the box from them. "Don't forget, it goes around the neck." Something glimmered in their eyes, something dangerous and wild. Something I missed back then, something I noticed now.

They left me in their tent, something I mistook for a sign of trust at the time. A simple black satin ribbon waited for me in the box, and I hungrily grabbed for the ribbon and neatly tied a bow around my throat. I felt so adult in that moment, so proud of my accomplishments. How important must I have been to become a part of this Troupe? How stupid I was, how greedy for attention. 

No one had warned me, of course. They couldn't have. I was just naive enough to not see the warning glances, alarmed expressions, half spoken warnings cut short by sealed lips. 

"Members of the Troupe, on top of daytime duties of entertaining, are also expected to preform specially for specific clientele at night," The Manager had said upon seeing my new ribbon wrapped aroud my neck. I had given a quizzical look, time slowing to a halt around me. A huffed laugh escaped my mouth out of shock. They...they couldn't possibly be suggesting that I...

"Serah, I am not a whore. I joined to breathe fire and for my illusions, did I not?"

The Manager looked at me, as if looking at a pinned butterfly instead of someone's face. A cold finger trailed the ribbon on my neck as an even colder smile grew on their face. "Oh, you foolish girl. I told you, you've bound yourself to us for the rest of you life." The noise of the campground drew silent as dread bubbled in my chest. 

They stop on the neatly tied bow, tapping it rhythmically. "You disobey me, you attempt to speak out against us or our clients, or any greedy hands untie this lovely little thing, and off your head goes." They stopped tapping, frigid eyes sharp as blades. "So yes, you are some whore, and you will preform your little tricks at dawn and you will fuck our respectable clientele at dusk."

I was frozen as they'd patted my cheek, a smug smile distorting their face. I was sixteen. A shadow of an adult, decieved by fame and glitter like a moth is lied to by flame. When I managed to leave the tent, numb and blank, I looked at the other Troupe members who were as enslaved as I was. I don't think I felt anything really, not in that moment. It was as if someone had reached within and gutted me like a caught rabbit being prepared for the fire. Someone must have noticed my demeanour, brought me to my tent that I shared with three others, whispered sometihng to those inside. 

One of my tentmates, a human man named Tobias I think, sat down next to me and draped a blanket over my shoulders. I think he spoke, although I can't remember what about. Hours might have passed. 

A slave. I was a slave now. I'd been born into freedom as a halfbreed and I'd been scorned for it for 16 years. At the attention of something that resembled fame I sold myself without even questioning it. Stupid. I hadn't even slept with someone yet, much less fallen in love or had my first crush. Everything that was 'supposed' to happen to me now. A whore with some cheap tricks and a fucking ribbon around her throat. 

I think I prayed. I'd always been attracted to Hlal for her love of laughter and joy, but I didn't know how she could've helped me in that moment. I probably begged for salvation, although it's all sort of blurred now. An answer didn't come, and I didn't expect one. I was a pisspoor believer anyways, and she was a goddess far too busy for someone like me.

Later, Tobias taught me the words to say, the phrases that would let me know if someone was a client or not, what to look for in a person. I could only...entertain certain people, those with connections to high places and deep pockets. The ribbon would tell them who I was, and the phrases would tell me who they were. A simple process, really.

My first client was the next evening. A distinguished human man with power and money. He was rough, more rough than he needed to be. I didn't know better at the time, so I let him backhand me and bruise my body with hands that had never seen a day's work before. When he was done, he muttered something about how his grandfather's ashes had more life in them than me before leaving in a huff, presumably to drink and forget this ever happened. I hadn't realized sex could make me ache this much. 

Weeks, months, years passed. I've grown stronger in my magic, my flames and deceptive illusions serving me well. Any client who tries to touch my ribbon or abuse me, I send a small suggestion to fuck off to them. I'm an indepedent agent of the Troupe, free to travel on my own while a portion of my income gets sent to them once a month. It is a false freedom, I know, but it's relieving in a way. I'm no longer suffocated by everyone travelling together, and I'm able to make my own deadlines within reason. 

I understand why the ribbons exist now, why it's a perfect design for the Troupe's after-hour activities. The amount of people I have fucked with power and prestige is a bit alarming, although these encounters will never be known to anyone else. One woman, some sort of royalty I think, ended up sobbing halfway through our session because of marital issues. I was once with a man who owned a small monopoly of magical supplies who was clearly not into women. I sent him a quiet suggestion, and he went on his way.

She stood out to me when I saw her sitting in the corner of the bar. I'd never seen a drow with short hair, much less one that seemed to melt in the background like she did. Maybe it's a stereotype, but I thought drow grew their hair long to show off to everyone else - short hair means you're a worker, usually. Long sleeves, high collar, fingerless gloves hat only wrapped around her thumbs. A small flute case sat next to her steaming cup, simplistic and made of brown leather. A bard? Or at least someone who had had the time to learn music. 

"May I join you?" I asked when I reached her table, a plate of food in one hand and a warm mug in the other. Her pale lilac eyes flicked to mine, face expressionless. Wordlessly she nods. I give a quick smile before settling down. 

"So. Are you a bard? Always a dream of mine, to be a bard."

We could start with smalltalk, and then from there I would know if she was a client or not. I would either get paid tonight, or I would have a lovely little conversation with her. Nothing lost. She takes a long sip of her drink, eyes examining the rest of me. Not undressing me, but more in an analytic way. The drow looks back at the black satin around me neck, eyes narrowing slightly. She was familiar with the Troupe, at least. Her way of blending in screamed attention, so perhaps she was some sort of noble who didn't know how to disguise herself very well. 

"You're like me," she says, voice polished like silverware. I tear a piece of bread in half, trying very hard to ignore how wobbly this chair is. "Oh yeah?"

Her nimble dark grey fingers wrap around her cup, eyes not leaving mine. "Yes. You know what it is like to be enslaved."

Ah. So, not a client then.

The noise from the tavern seems to fade away to nothing as the drow sits in front of me, seemingly waiting for a response. I can't see her neck, so maybe she also has a ribbon wrapped around it. If she was a part of the Troupe, I'd never seen her before. Maybe she'd been independent for longer than I, and that's why? How could she know?

"These lips are sealed," spills from my mouth automatically. The company line. She nods slowly, looking down into her cup. "I understand. People like us can always recognize each other." She lifts a sleeve up slightly to show a heavily scarred wrist, marked from years of being chained and manacled. She pulls the sleeve down just as quickly, looking back up at me. "Do you need help?"

I freeze at the question. Help. None of the clients, no matter how kind they had been to me, had ever offered to help. It was something I hadn't received since I had joined the Troupe all the years ago, since Tobias had wrapped a blanket around me and taught me the coded language.

The Manager's crescent moon smile flashes in my mind. The small wooden box carrying my soon-to-be prison. The first man I ever fucked, his warm hands leaving bruises. Probing fingers, hot breath in my ear, love letters left on pillows. I see myself growing stronger in lovemaking and magic, the flames burning brighter and hotter. Delight bursts in children's eyes as I breathe out fire, harmless sparks showering behind me. The forced forgetting of my situation, of the chains holding me back. 

I don't know this person sitting in front of me, and she knows nothing of me. But I think, in this moment, we understand each other. We know enough about each other to know what the other has been through. To help.

I look back at her, her features still expressionless and cool. "Alytheris. My name is Alytheris."

The drow nods, eyes not leaving mine. "Mockingbird."

What a fitting name for a possible bard. She never answered that question, did she? Maybe that as the point. "Well, Mockingbird," I say, clasping my hands together. "Do you have any ideas?"


End file.
